Payne picked up the rifle and attached the scope with the skill of a soldier. Once it was in place, he held the eyepiece to his face and put a fire alarm across the garage in his sight. He held the weapon steady, sucked in a deep breath, then paused. “Bang!” he mouthed before dropping the AUG to his side. “You’re right. This is a fine choice, and all the weapons appear to be in pretty good shape. What did the purchase run you?”
Greene pulled a handwritten invoice out of his pocket and gave it to Payne.
Payne glanced at the sheet and smiled. “What kind of a street dealer writes out receipts? Does he have a return policy if we’re not completely satisfied?”
“Actually, I wrote the stuff down so I wouldn’t forget. I’m not that strong with numbers.”
“Me, either,” Payne admitted. “That’s why I try to avoid them at work.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you do for a living?”
“I’m the CEO of a multinational conglomeration. We specialize in everything from new technologies to clothes to food products.”
Greene laughed in a disbelieving tone. “Okay, whatever. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Besides, I’m too hungry to worry about it. Why don’t we get out of here?”
Jones agreed. “Sounds good to me. Should we take one car or two?”
“Why don’t we take two?” Payne said. “There’s a good chance that we’re going to be putting ourselves in danger before the end of the night, and I’m not comfortable asking Levon to help us any more than he already has. It’s one thing to ask him for guns and a place to stay, but it’s entirely different to put his life in danger for two guys he barely knows.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Jones seconded. “Things could get a little bit nasty if we meet up with the wrong people.”
“Come on, D.J., let’s put our stuff in the back of the Mustang, then we can follow Levon to dinner.” Jones nodded, then walked toward the car with a handful of weapons.
“Hold up a fuckin’ minute!” Greene roared. “I can’t believe you had an entire conversation about me and didn’t bother to ask my opinion. What kind of Yankee bullshit is that?”
“Yankee bullshit?” Payne muttered. “I don’t remember talking about baseball.”
“I don’t think you did. He must’ve misheard you. The acoustics down here aren’t that great.”
“Enough already! Would you guys please shut up before I’m forced to use a Glock on your ass? Damn!” Greene shook his head in disgust as he walked toward Payne and Jones. “Listen, I realize that I don’t know you guys very well, but I’ll be honest with you: This shit intrigues me. When I was still playing ball, I used to live for the adrenaline rush that I got on game day. The crowd calling my name, the speakers blasting my Bob Marley theme song, the feel of a quarterback sack. Man, those were the days.”
Greene’s eyes glazed slightly as he thought back to his All-Pro seasons with the Bills.
“Unfortunately, that shit has changed. Since Barker blew out my fucking knee, I haven’t been able to get too excited about anything. I’ve done my best to rehab and run and lift, but the truth is, my career is probably done.”
“So, what are you saying?” Payne asked.
“For the first time in almost three years, I can feel the adrenaline pumping again. When you called and told me that you wanted me to round up some weapons, I nearly got a hard-on. Then, when you told me the reason for your visit, I got even more excited-an excitement I haven’t felt in a long time. Anyway, I guess this is what I’m saying: If you don’t mind, I’d like to come along for the ride. I’d like to help you find your girlfriend.”
Payne turned to Jones and grinned. He’d been hoping Greene would offer his services. “I don’t know, man. I just don’t know. D.J., what do you think?”
“Well, a New Orleans native with street connections might come in handy, and his nickname is the Buffalo Soldier after all.”
“Good point.” Payne smiled and shook Greene’s hand. “Okay, Levon, you’re on. But if at any time you feel like we’re leading you somewhere you don’t want to go, just say the word and we’ll understand.”
Jones nodded his head. “Yeah, there’s no sense getting killed in a fight where you have nothing to gain.”
“That sounds pretty fair,” Greene exclaimed. “But before we begin, I need to ask for one small favor.”
“You got it,” Payne said. “Just name it.”
“Well, since there’s a good chance that you might die on this trip, I was hoping you could pay me for the guns before you got killed.”
CHAPTER 17
ROBERT
Edwards lay on the dirt floor of the small cabin, trying to hold back tears. He had never felt more exhausted in his entire life, yet the waves of agony that engulfed his body hindered his ability to slip into a painless sleep.
His face was still scarred and scabbed from his unsuccessful escape attempt through the Colorado woods on Thursday morning. The flesh on his back was sunburned and slashed from the numerous whippings he had received in the field as punishment for alleged misbehavior. His hands were sore from pulling weeds, and his arms ached from crawling through the untilled soil.
But all of that paled in comparison to the pain that he felt in his injured left leg.
The swelling in Robert’s foot and ankle was so severe that his limb no longer looked like a normal appendage, but instead appeared to be a severe birth defect or some kind of laboratory mutation. The bloated and deformed leg had turned such a deep shade of purple that its hue bordered on black instead of the peach color of his uninjured leg. And enough blood had pooled in the lower extremity that the subsequent pressure was cutting off his foot’s circulation. His toes were ice-cold, and his foot tingled as if it were on the verge of falling asleep. Robert knew something needed to be done, but his limited knowledge of first aid was not advanced enough to deal with the severity of his injury. Without ice or an analgesic to reduce the pain and swelling, he did the only thing that he could. He elevated his leg by resting it on the cabin’s lone bench.
As he closed his eyes, trying to get the rest that his body required, he heard the rattling of the cabin’s lock. He turned his head and watched the door inch open. He stared at it with unblinking eyes until he recognized the shadow that slid into the room. It was Master Holmes, and he was holding a sledgehammer.
“What’s that for?” Robert cried. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me! I haven’t caused any problems!”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Holmes growled. “My guards assured me that you were lagging behind in the field, you needed assistance on more than one occasion, and you objected to being beaten. Those sound like serious problems to me.”
“I swear I was doing my best! The pain in my leg was unbearable, and it slowed me down at times, but I never quit. I never gave up. I swear to God I did everything I could! Please don’t hit me. I swear I’ll get better. Oh, God, I swear!”
Holmes considered Robert’s plea, then shrugged as he moved closer. “But I don’t see
how
you can get better. You claim you were doing your best today, but my guards told me that your efforts weren’t good enough. If you were already doing your best, I don’t see how you could improve.”
Robert tried to sit up, but he was unable to budge his leg. “I promise I’ll get better. Just give me a painkiller and I could work harder. I just need something for the pain.”